75th hunger games
by No Holds
Summary: Katniss and peeta both won the games, but- SPOILERS- it didn't cause a rebellion, so the third quater quell is what it would have been without Katniss. Rated T for death n' swearing. THIS IS OLD. I'm not a great writer now, but when I wrote this I was MUCH worse.
1. I think I'll be alright

AN: sooo… yeah. Another Hunger Games fanfic. Woo. Quick description, after Katniss and Peetas' games, but-SPOILER ALERT BOOP BOOP BOOP- it didn't cause a rebellion an stuff, so the quarter Quell is what it was going to be pre-Katniss/Peeta. I know it won't convince any of you too review if I ask, but pleeeeeease review. That's all for now.

Sometimes, I think I'll be alright. I'll look at them, holding hands at the dinner table, talking, wrapped in each other's arms, and think, just for a second, things will be okay. But then reality comes crashing down. They'll reply kindly enough if I ask a question, about how I'll survive the next few months, with a joking "Stay alive" as their mentor famously said during their games. Or more seriously, "We'll explain in training" Peeta even told me there'd be another multiple victory for district 12 this year. But I know better than too think everything will be okay. I see it in their haunted eyes, past horrors covered by the mask of a false smile. I see it in the pain that flickers on their faces when the other tributes ask them about the games. I see it in the third mentor, Hamitch, drowning in his drink. I hear it in their screams, keeping us tributes awake, the two lover's terror echoing across the train at night, reliving the games in their dreams. I know, even if I, along with the other three tributes, survive, we'll all be haunted, just as our mentors are, unable to escape the horrors witch we lived through. Unable to escape the Arena. I'm Alex Aindrea. Let the seventy fifth hunger games begin.

This is, in some ways, the best year to get reaped. On one hand, you have worse chances, one in forty eight rather than one in twenty four, but on the other hand, you'll be co-operating with three other tributes to survive. The Quarter Quell this year works like this: four tributes from each district are reaped. All four tributes are on the same team, and if all four are the last standing, they all go home. Four tributes. Another twist? Four years of rewards for the winning district. One for each contestant. So we have to win. Me, and Aiden, the little boy who got reaped his first year because he had to take out tesserae, Andy, The eighteen year old boy who Volunteered in place of his little brother. And Shura, the thirteen year old girl with fire in her eyes. The girl who will be Our Katniss Everdeen. Our mocking jay. We have to win so the death in our district stops. The young children with hollow cheeks pawing through the trash, the dead, emaciated body on the streets. So we have to win. The other tributes have to die so our families won't. This is the way the Games were designed. To keep the districts apart. I don't mind dancing to the capitol's tune if it means my family survives. But I see the haunted eyes of Katniss and Peeta. I hear their screams. And I realize, as the train pulls into the station, maybe I do mind, just a tiny bit. That tiny bit flames, filling me with warmth, forcing me to stand tall as we exit the train, the four tributes of district twelve. The future victors of the Hunger games.

AN: yay, short chapter! Anyway, I made a new fic just in time to not write for the month of November well, I will be writing. Three and a half pages a day. National novel writing month(NANOWRIMO), is when you write 50 000 words over the course of November. So no updates in November.


	2. stylin'

A.N: Hi. So, it's me. I said I wouldn't update al through November, and I didn't (I _did, _however, write a 50 000 word story called flying free in a month.) I didn't want to touch a keyboard for like, two weeks, but I dragged out the Mac a week and a half into Dec. And started typing. So, here. Chapter two. Please review.

I exited the train, and Katniss led us girls into the building. Peeta was leading the boys into a door on the other side of the grey concrete tower. She gestured to the elevators.

"You're room is up there" her voice was hoarse and quiet. "Room 14" she made a brave attempt to smile. "We'll call you when the stylists are ready to see you"

I stood next to the elevator, the sides paneled in polished mirrors, the floors carpeted in a material that would have cost more than my entire house. Shura stepped into the elevator without hesitating. I followed mindlessly; glad to have someone to, for the moment, think for me. The mirrored box glided smoothly upward, and came to a halt with a gentle jolt, and a friendly 'ding' I stepped out, closely followed by Shura. The doors on the Elevator whooshed shut, and it descended, off to cart more passengers. I looked up and down the hall, evidence of the wealth in the Capitol evident throughout the building. The walls were paneled in solid oak, polished to a reflective finish. The floors were carpeted in silk, woven into little loops that rose a centimeter off of the floor. I couldn't help reaching down to stroke it. The floors in this building were soft and luxurious, the most expensive thing I'd ever laid eyes on. Shura looked similarly awe-struck.

"Wow" She breathed, looking around in wonder. I agreed. Wow was the perfect word to describe the hallway. I was suddenly exhausted, the reality of my entry in the hunger games finally catching up to me. Shura seemed to sense my sudden tiredness.

"Come on" She said gently. "Our room's just over here."

I followed her obediently towards out room. The number 14 was inscribed on a solid brass plate that was bolted to the door. The plate alone could feed families in the seam for a week. I entered the room. The walls were deep, deep red, almost brown, and the floors had the same silk carpeting as the hall, but it was black. I collapsed on to one of the two beds, the one closer to the window. I stared out at the city, gleaming lights and towering buildings. Festivities were in full swing; everyone was exited to see the carriages carry us into the square. I crawled under the soft sheets, the same black as the floor. The bedding smelled faintly of lavender, and the smell soothed me, reminding me of home as I drifted to sleep. I could faintly hear Shura settling into the other bed as I lost consciousness. My dreams, however, would not allow for the peaceful sleep I'd hoped for. They depicted me in the arena, witch was a huge desert, and I sat in the hot sand, watching vultures circle overhead, their rough, filthy feathers growing closer and closer, carrying the stench of decay, as I slowly starved to death. I woke, mouth dry, panting. I hoped I hadn't been screaming as Katniss did, but Shura hadn't woken, so I assumed I'd been quiet enough. I drew my knees to my chest and loosely looped my arms around them, resting my head on the wall and staring absently at the wall. I heard a loud crackle beside my head. Startle, I turned, only to see a speaker embedded almost invisibly in the wall.

"Would the district twelve tributes please report to the styling rooms. District twelve, to the style rooms please." The short message ended, and I went over to wake Shura. I shook her shoulders gently.  
"Hey, Shura, wake up. It's time to go get prettied up." She cracked an eye opened.

"Oh, yeah" The girl said quietly. "Preparing the meats for the butcher" I laughed softly.

"Oh, It's not really like that" Shura raised an eyebrow. I didn't reply to her challenge. Katniss knocked on the door.

"Girls?" Her voice was quiet and withdrawn, as if she has locked herself away. "I can show you the way to the stylists if you'd like" I nodded.

"Thanks, Katniss. I'd appreciate that." Shura nodded in agreement. Katniss just looked at us sadly, like she would never see us again. Then she motioned to the door, asking us to follow her. We fell into step behind the girl, only a year older than me. It's a lot to go through, I realized. She was my age when she entered the games. A lot of weight to put on the shoulders of a teenager. A quiet murmur snapped me out of my thoughts. "We're here" I walked, slightly reluctantly, into the studio. At once, a trio of people dressed in bright clothing, faces plastered with garish make up, blew into the room like a storm, took Shura by the arm, and whisked her away. Katniss gave me another melancholy smile. "You get the prep team I had" She left the room. Three people enter the room, talking to each other in their trilling capitol accents. One, whose skin is dyed green as the meadow back home, looks at me with a gasp.

"Oh dear!" She exclaimed in her silly accent. "You are almost as hairy as Katniss!" The other two laughed, as if it's an inside joke. They sit me on a stool and strip me of my clothing, than rip the hair from my body, pouring hot wax on me and yanking the hair out. The process leaves me raw and stinging. They look me over, rub me in ointment, and leave the room in a cloud of strange capitol clothing and bizarre hair-doos. A man enters the room, wearing a simple black shirt and jeans. His face is rather un-makeuped, and the normalcy soothes me.

"Hello" He intones in a lilting accent. "I am the girl's stylist, Cinna" He looks me over. "I've just seen your fiend. It seems her prep team is quicker than yours." He says it lie a joke, but if it is one, I don't find it very funny. He shrugs, and silently gets to work on my hair. I feel it tugged, jerking my head back. "Sorry" He murmurs. "Just working out the tangles" a minute goes by, maybe two, and then he sets down the brush. My hair is than trimmed, dried, and brushed again, so it hangs in soft curtains around my face. He considers me, than braids a small section of my hair so that a thin braid hangs down one side of my face, no thicker than my littlest finger. He nods in approval, and hands me a dress. "Go change" He asks politely. I do, and when I return, what I see in the mirror astounds me. My hair, usually greasy an pulled back in a rough ponytail, hangs down to my shoulders, and it' woven with strings of what looks like fire, yellow and orange, even blue, dancing through my hair when I move like tongues of flame. I touch the strings in wonder. Cinna smiles at my shock. "It's metal," He tells me. "Thin strands of metal, not real fire" I nod, than see my dress. It looks simple at first, an elegant black gown, woven from silk. But I turn, and it shimmers in the light. I realize it's been woven through with the same flame-like threads that adorn my hair, but more so, and It appears that I'm flickering, burning like a fire in the hearth back home. I smile at the stylist, who's standing in the corner looking me over.

"Thank you" I tell him. "This dress is amazing." He shrugs, than wrinkles his nose.

"You won't like this next part of your outfit so much." He holds out what appears to be a strip of black nylon. I cock my head to the side, trying to figure out what it is. He gives a grim smile. "It's a collar," He tells me. "Like what they put on dogs. The capitol has ordered all the stylists to put these on the tributes so you can tell what team people are on when they're in the arena."

I look at the thing ir-didiculously. "I have to wear a collar?"

Cinna just nods. "It's a way of de-personifying you. Making you look like animals. I'm sure the audience will enjoy it." I take the collar from his hand and strap it around my neck.

"Let the games begin" I murmur to myself. "Let the games begin."

AN: So, this chapter was longer, with just over 1500 words (1512), and 3 pages. So, I hope you enjoyed the second chapter in the story, and if you review, I'll love you forever. Promise. So, review? PLEEEEEASE?


	3. Chapter three, Or Thereabouts

AN: Annnnnnd we're back. It's been several months since I last wrote a chapter, so I do apologize to the (hypothetical) fans who were so desperately awaiting my next chapter. I promise to write faster next time, but I don't know if I'll keep my promise. Maybe some reviews would help the writing process *Pleading look*

-Froginatub

I exit the styling rooms and enter the stables, Seeing that Shura was, indeed, here before me. She is wearing the same Kind of dress as me, only her short brown hair has made it somewhat difficult to get the sparkling metal in, so instead it's been tied up in an elaborate bun-like doo, the wire used to fasten it in place.

"So." She looks me over. "How was your prep team?"

I chuckle, thinking back to the trio of oddly dressed people, giggling as they prepared me to murder, of be murdered. "Barking mad. And yours?"

She gave a hoarse, coughing laugh. "Complete whack jobs, All three of 'em." She sighs, and scratches her neck where the collar rubs. I notice her biting her bottom lip.

"Nervous?" She gives a tight nod. "Me too." I move over towards the carriage, noticing the jet-black horses had the shining flame-thread woven into their manes and tails. One, with a defiant white patch on its foot, is chewing on the wire, strands of fire hanging from its jaws. I like this horse immensely.

"Hey, shlladies. Did I miss snything?" an extremely drunk Hamitch totters into the stable, yellowed teeth bared in an unpleasant smile, Fumes of alcohol wafting off him.

I give him a curt nod, than go back to stroking the horse, who nickers softly whenever I touch its left ear. "Hamitch, shouldn't you be with the other mentors by now?"

"Oh, yeah. Bye." Only the "Bye" Comes out sounding like 'Baaaa' I wonder if this is an accident. The horse snorts. I continue rubbing it. Just then, the boys swagger into the stable, Aiden dressed up, face plastered in makeup so his cheekbones protrude, and his eyes appear dangerous, not the pleading eyes of a twelve year old child. His short hair was trimmed closer to his scalp than it had been before, and was dyed black, so his brown hair was the colour of the coal dust that settled on everything in the seam. Andy was, in a word, handsome. His proud face adorned by a swirling design, stylised flames that traced his cheek bone and jawline. His hair, blond rather than the typical colour, was left to its usual length, hanging by his chin. It, too, was dyed black, and the dark colour made him look edgy, like he just might survive. He was wearing a suit, same as Aiden, But On Aiden, it appeared he was a little boy playing dress-up. On Andy, the sparkling Formal wear made him look taller, stronger, older. I nodded to the new arrivals.

"nice to see you decided to drop by."

Andy nodded, flashing a confident grin. "Well, it's always nice to be fashionably late." How he managed to be cocky at a time like this is beyond me, but he just went on grinning, and his arrogance managed to bolster my spirits. Cinna entered the room to do a final wardrobe check. He gave me a tense smile when he saw the horse I was still absently stroking.

"That's Jax. He seems to have warmed up to you." He noticed the metal ribbons hanging from the black animal's mouth.

"Unfortunately." Cinna sighed, grabbing hold of the wire and tugging,

"He is not a stallion, but a pure-bred ASS!" he yanked the wire out of Jax's mouth and stumbled backwards. Dusting himself off, Cinna gave us our instructions.

"Make sure you appear as if you are a team. The crowd will be focusing on you, so even if your outfits are outstanding, they won't be interested if you seem distant, or cold." He helped Shura into one carriage, lifted me into Jax's, and waved goodbye.

"Good luck" He told me. Aiden hopped up awkwardly onto the other side of the seat, and I had to grab him by the shoulders to haul him in.

"Thanks" His voice cracked, and I noticed tears welling in his eyes, held back by sheer will power. My heart went out to the little boy, and I gave his shoulder a squeeze. "You'll be fine." I assured him. He looked at me, a look of quiet desperation on his face.

"Will I?" His voice squeaked out. I was about to reply, when, seemingly out of nowhere, the capitol anthem played, and Jax and his partner pulled us out of the stable, into a road fences by screaming Capitol nuts. I still had my arm around Aiden's shoulder, and left it there, remembering Cinna's Advice.

"We love you, district twelve!" One of the braver observers screamed, and the moonlight glinted off the threads in our clothes, setting them aflame.

"I love you too" Andy's confident voice rang out over the crowd. They went wild. I heard my name being cheered, along with the other three tributes. The energy of the crowd enveloped me, and soon I was waving, Replying to "I love you's" and "Go Alex's" We were definitely a crowd favourite. Aiden, sitting beside me, was ridged, and I could tell he wasn't prepared for the noise of the crowd.

"Just relax, go with it." I tell him, The I Participate in the cheering of the crowd. , "District twelve, all the Way!" The other districts are looking at us, pure disbelief scrawled across the luxury district's faces. One of the district one lap dogs sneers as I pass. District eleven looks at us, almost happy with the circumstances. I know how they feel. I would rather another poor district win than the capitol-loving snobs. Not soon enough, the carriages stop, and we get out, led to the next stop on the conveyer belt that prepares to feed us into the games.

An: So, this one wasn't long. But I'm sick (actually sick, not just making excuses) N=And really tired, and I can't breathe, so I'm going to go get some decongestant, then sleep. Even if it _is _only nine at night… And I've been napping all day. If you review, I'll love you forever.

-Froginatub.

P.s. If you don't review, I'll take a rusty metal pole and kill you. Slowly.

P.P.s. YAAAAAAY Death threats!


	4. Chapter 4, I belive

AN: So, I'm starting this chapter the day after I posted the last one… Mostly 'cause Anonymous () posted a review. (Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou) And I do try to have good grammar and such, but seeing as the only way I can fix things such as this is a quick spell check, I make no promises. (I _will _get my sister, Pepper66, to help me review when she stops being a lazy bum_.)_

_-_Froginatub

P.S. Yes, spellcheck, Froginatub is a word. Curse these red squiggles. CURSE THEM!

I hop off the Chariot and head towards Effie, who is jumping up and down, waving at us. Aiden stumbles, tripping over a hulking District one tribute who jeers as I catch Aiden by the shoulders.

"Is this all District twelve can manage? A little boy and a girl who can't even feed herself?"

I look over at Aiden. He's tiny. I glance down at myself. I am painfully thin. Instead of slapping the tribute across the face, I nod.

"Yep. And this thin girl is going to personally going to kill your ass during the games. And this little boy" I gesture at Aiden "Is going to send your fellow tributes back in a matchbox." Aiden straightens and tries to look strong.

The other tribute looks at me warily. I give him the finger. He flees. Aiden grins and high-fives me. I can't help but grin back His smile is contagious. We reach Effie, who gives me a giddy smile.

"Wow, Alex!" she says, her voice is annoyingly perky. "You two outshone Katniss! And the way you were hugging Aiden?" She looks like she might explode with excitement. "It was adorable! The fans looooove district twelve!" I smile and nod; ignoring Effie's gushing, and looking over the crowd, trying to find Shura and Andy. The seething mass of tributes and mentors has swallowed them though, and I can't even pick out Andy's head bobbing above the crowd as it usually does. Effie stands daintily on her tiptoes and peers in the direction I'm looking.

"What are you looking for sweetie?" her voice is so falsely sweet it makes my teeth hurt.

"The other tributes." I say, craning my neck and turning in an attempt to see above the crowd.

"Hmmm?" Effie asks, inspecting an invisible stain on her dress.

"I said I'm looking for the other tributes" I grind my teeth together.

"Oh. That's nice dear." A pleasant ding sounds to my left, and a smooth female voice announces "district twelve tributes: Aiden and Alex please report to the private training room." The voice is completely robotic- unrecognizable as human speech. Effie walks quickly towards the elevator.

"come on, come on, we're late!" she bustles into the polished wooden box." I follow, Aiden tagging along by my side. The elevator glides smoothly upwards, and as it grinds to a halt, I am astounded by the richness surrounding me. The doors have pinged open to reveal a large, rectangular room, paneled in rich, dark wood. At one wall is a row of weight machines, gleaming in the light that fills the room with a soft glow. At the other side of the room, wedged in a corner, are a wrestling ring and several targets for practice with the shelf of weapons that line the wall. Knives and bows of all sorts, as well as spears, swords, clubs-anything that can be used to injure someone is there. Aiden lets out a whistle, and heads for a row of booths the line the wall directly facing us. Knot-tying booths, plant-eating booths, every type of survival information that one could find one of the booths could teach you more about. But the thing that scares me is that beside the booths sits a grizzled old man, face scarred, arms knotted with thick muscle, staring at us with cold eyes. He bares his teeth in a cruel imitation of a smile and hold out his hand.

"Halt Astor, reporting for duty." He stands stiffly, like a soldier, but dark eyes pin me in place, inspecting me like a bug under a microscope.

"I'm the weapons master for district twelve. I'll teach you all you need to know about any of those weapons." His voice is untouched by the capitol accent, steely like his cold stare, and completely uncaring, like if me and Aiden dropped dead right now, he would just shrug and call the janitor.

"Each district gets their own personal training room this year." Effie sound exited, her high voice cutting the air shrilly.

"If you go through those doors, you'll find and elevator that takes you back to your rooms! Isn't that exiting?" She gave a silly grin, than hopped out, skipping like a deranged rabbit. Halt glared after her, than growled under his breath.

"Stupid capitol Bitch." I jump, startled by his statement.

"What?" the grizzled man gave a harsh chuckle. "You must hate her too." I nod.

"I do hate her." I give him a quick wave. "Goodnight." Me and Aiden walk towards our rooms perhaps more quickly than we would have without the eyes of the army man drilling into our backs. When the doors swing shut, cutting us out of his view, I go limp with relief. There is something quietly threatening about the strong, scarred man in the training room.

"I mean this in a completely manly way" Aiden squeaked out. "But that guy scares the panties off me." I laughed, and led Aiden up the stairs and down the hallway, towards his room.

"Good night" I told him, giving the boy a quick hug. "Have sweet dreams. Don't let the coal dust settle." I uttered the familiar good-night saying from back home. The boy smiled, giving the customary response.

"If the dust disturbs my sleep, surely the capitol won't make a squeak." I duck into my room, and see Shura sitting on top of her bed covers, gazing out the window at the sea of city lights that glitter below. She turns as I enter the room, a tired smile on her face.

"hey." She gives a half-wave.

"Hey" I scootch under the covers of my own bed, the silky fabric barely there.

The soft bed is already lulling me to sleep.

"'night, Shura" I yawn

"Goodnight Alex." Shure sounds distracted, and I can tell she is still staring out that window, searching for an answer that will never make itself clear.

My mind slips into a nightmare, and I find myself standing in the middle of the town square, a gallows set up in the centre. A sad district song, one that has become familiar to me over the years, plays in the back ground.

Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where they strung up a man they say murdered three…

The gallows is covered in a layer of coal dust, and a man hangs from the gallows. He stretches up, and his eyes lock with mine. I recoil- It's Hamich, and as I watch in horrified fascination, his mouth stretches open, and he begins to sing.

Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee.

Katniss appears, and walks slowly towards the gallows, looping the second noose around her neck, and killing herself. She lifts her head, the rope around her neck swinging her back and forth, and her lovely voice joins Hamich's.

Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free.

Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Peeta Walked, slowly, deliberately forwards, looping the last noose around his neck, smiling, and begins to swing and his deadly necklace.

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.

Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Katniss looks straight into me, eyes piercing into mine, and sings a line to the song I have not heard before.

This is the only way you can be free If you, if you come to the old hanging tree…

The three mentors stopped their ghostly tune and hung, swinging in the wind.

A.N. So, I put in a night mare 'cause…. I don't actually know why.

Please more comments. They are my writer-fuel.


	5. Chapter 5 is not chapter six

AN: Immmagotasecondreview. Eep. Again, many, many thanks to the reviewer! It made my day! Thanks for your kind words! And you'll see. You'll _all_ see. Mwa ha ha ha…

-Froginatub

I wake with a start, drenched in cold sweat. Shivering, I pulled the covers off me. Shura turns, and looks at me with large, sorrowful eyes.

"Couldn't sleep?" She looks sorry.

"No. Haven't been ale to sleep properly since we got here."

Shura laughs. "I can't remember the last time I slept without a nightmare."

"Me neither." It's true. In the poor districts, there's always something to fear. But the hunger games have never played such a prominent part in my dreams. Usually it's mine collapse dreams, or nightmares where the wild dogs and cougars clawed through the fence, and were prowling through district twelve.

Shura rubs the back of her neck. "Yeah. There wasn't much to look forwards to in the District."

"Is there now?"

Shura laughs, and I don't know how she emits the musical sound so easily. In district twelve, people keep their emotions on the inside.

"No, no I suppose there's not." She looks at me, cocking her head to the side.

"Wow, you look really shaken up. Are you okay?"

I automatically try to wipe the fear from my face. "I'm fine."

She raises an eyebrow. "Alright. Well, if you're sure… Dibs on the shower!" I spring up, indignant, and she laughs, falling back onto the sheets.

"Jeez, Alex, there are two showers." I fall back onto my own bed.

"I actually didn't really want a shower. I just didn't want you to have it." I give her a sheepish look, and she opens her mouth indignantly, about to protest, when I hear a knock on the door.

"Hello?" A voice rings tentatively into the room. I open the door, and Katniss is standing in the doorway, looking awkward.

I jump, surprised to see the older girl standing in the doorway looking, of all things, vulnerable.

"Hello" she says again, and walks into the room, lowering herself gingerly onto the couch.

"So, umm, I knew I had trouble sleeping during my games, and I was wondering if you guys needed some company." Her left hand gripped her right forearm, and she looked really uncomfortable. Shura stepped in to rescue Katniss.

"Yeah, Well, I know I haven't gotten a proper sleep since I got here."

I jump on her Idea. "Me neither." Katniss looks relieved.

"Yeah, so um, if you guys wanted to talk about it or something…" She looks unhappy, and hugs her knees to my chest. I remind myself that despite all that she's seen, Katniss is still younger than one of my fellow tributes.

Shura mimics Katniss' posture. "Well, I have been having nightmares about the reaping." Her face looks ashen as she thinks on the dreams. I nod. The reaping dreams are the worst. You see those you love reaped, and are helpless or unwilling to stop it. Or the entire glass ball is filled with blood, and the old tributes, people you watched die, stare at you from inside the ball. I give an involuntary shudder.

Katniss smiles bleakly. "I can see from your expression that you've had the reaping dreams too, Alex?" I nod.

"Okay, well, I think you should talk about it, I guess." It was clear she had no idea what she was doing. Once again, Shura jumped in to help.

"Well, some of my dreams are pretty private, but maybe talking about the reaping itself will help." She stretches, and huddles into a tighter ball.

"Here's what I remember; I was sanding in the crowd, surrounded by people on all sides. I was thinking about the quarter quell, and how four people I love were going to fight to the death on TV. Effie rooted around in the glass ball, and here I was, just thinking about having to watch my friends fight on TV, than she pulled out a name, and it-" Shura chokes, clearly thinking back to the awful moment. "It was me. It didn't register, at first. I just stood there, and I remember thinking-Wow, I feel bad for that girl. Than Effie got impatient, she read my name again, and said "Shura? Shura please come up." Than someone gives me a shove. "Dude, it's you" And I turn, and I realize they're right, it is me, and I stumble up, and Effie congratulates me, and gives me that stupid little bow, and says; "May the odds be ever in your favor!"" Shura finishes, and looks down at her feet, flexing her toes. Katniss has a faraway look on her face.

"May the odds be ever in your favor." She echoes thoughtfully. I shift on me bed, thinking about my own reaping, about seeing Shura stumble up to the stage, about laughing at her, thinking if _I _was reaped, I couldn't be such a coward. Than they called my name. And I walked up to the stage, and Effie shook my hand, and as I looked up at a screen, I saw that I was shaking. Physically shacking with fear.

"Okay, so I'm no good at this" Katniss snaps me out of my reverie.

"Hmmm?" I ask distractedly.

"I'm bad at this. I'm not a sentimental person." She looks determined now, a blank mask pasted over her face.

"I say we all go and try out the weapons." I jump at the idea. For the past few days, a restless feeling has been building up inside me, and I can't stand it. I have to let it out, and If Katniss is giving us the chance o beat up some dummies… well, I'm not complaining. She stands, and I follow her out of the room, down an elevator, and into the training room. Shura follows closely behind me.

"Okay" Katniss says, all business. "Part of the rules for this games is that each tribute gets to bring their own weapons into the games. You practice with some weapons, get good at fighting with them, and you can bring your three best into the arena." She shrugs, and gestures to the rack of deadly, gleaming steel.

"Go get a feel for the weaponry, choose three, and the capitol will prepare some for your trip into the Arena." I bound over to the wall of metal and pick up a smooth wooden handle from a sheath on the wall. It isn't attached to a straight blade as I'd expected, but a grooved blade, and if you looked at it head-on, the blade was bent in a v shape.

"That's a bayonet," a cold voice informs me. I turn, startled, swiping out with the blade in my hand. Something stops the steel cold. It's Halt, the scary weapons master. He's caught the grooved metal in his hand and continues informing me on the weapon in my grasp.

"These were originally stuck on the end of rifles. They're used like this" He twists the handle out of my grasp, holds it expertly, and plunges the blued steel into a nearby dummy.

" First; Stab." He flicks his wrist, and the bayonet rotates in the dummy.

Second: Twist" He pulls the blade out of the dummy, and it's silicone innards slither out onto the ground.

"Third: pull, and the intestines should come out with the blade." He nudged the guts with his foot.

"Nice dummies this year. Realistic." He tossed the blade back at me and goes off to instruct Shura. I practice with the balanced weapon, growing used to the twisting movement, and how the blade came out heavy with false organs. The crazy weapon instructor suddenly sneaks up behind me, tapping me on the shoulder. Without thinking, I stab towards him with the grooved steel in my hand. It hits something hard.

"Nice reflexes." I can hear the smile in his voice. I turn, noticing that he's wearing a hard vest around his mid-section, and that it's oozing red.

"Bulletproof vest" He says. "And a thin layer of rubber inside, filled with paint so you know you've hit the other person. He shoves one of the vests towards me, and I pull it over my head, than he grabs a second bayonet from the wall and slashes towards me, giving me a gash on my cheek before I have time to react. I slash back, the sudden pain that lances trough my face urging me on. Unfortunately, I am hopelessly out-matched. Halt blocks every one of my lunges with ease, and I have two more cuts and too many bruises to count when we stop fighting. He nods at me, than points to the weight machines along the wall.

"Not enough power behind your strokes" he informs me. "Go lift some weights." I groan, my arms sore enough from the many times the grizzled old man had blocked my blows, sending shocks reverberating up my arms. But I oblige, because at the end of the day, I agree with Aiden. That guy scares the panties off me.

AN: well, I actually hate this chapter. But I am so tired, I swear I'm going to pass out. So I'll just post it. I sawan amazing fan-made video for the hunger games on you tube. Search HUNGER GAMES: KATNISS & RUE for some throat stabbing, song singing action.


	6. Chapter 6 is in order

AN" So, I apologize for not updating in the past little while, but I _do _have a reason this time (well, sorta.) I got Pokémon white (No, I'm not racist, I just think a forest is cooler than a city) So I've been distracted. Again, thanks a million to my lonely reviewer. I really appreciate the comments. I also apologize to the reviewer S e () for not recognizing her comment in chapter five. I'm sorry for the misspelling. I blame spellchecker. Let chapter six commence!

-Froginatub

After four long hours of weight lifting Shura and me hauled ourselves back to the room, flopping down our beds. She looks over at me and sighs.

"This is gonna be a helluva ride."

I look at her, allowing a rare smile to cross my face. "That it is."

She nods, and looks up at the ceiling "I'll try though. We'll all try."

I nod, thinking of my starving family back home. "What else can we do?"

She flops over, lying on her stomach. "Is it worth it?" She asks, more to herself than anyone else, and I know that she knows. That she hears Katniss and Peeta's screams, and that she knows. Knows it won't be all right, even if we win. Knows about the nightmares.

"Of course" I tell her. But I can hear that my voice is anything but confident.

"Of course." She shrugs, and curls up, seeming to fall asleep. I follow her example. Thankfully, the exercise has tired me out enough that my sleep, at least, is dreamless. But I can hear sobs from far away. Aiden. He sounds vulnerable and so small. I flip over, closing my ears to the hopeless noises that drift across the hallway, and falling into the grasp of unconsciousness. What seems like minuets later, Effie is rapping delicately on the door, announcing we have a 'Big big big day' ahead of us. Groaning, I sit up, noticing Shura is already up, Sitting on top of her covers, changed into a simple, forest green shirt and jeans. A similar outfit perches on the end of my bed. Slipping out of my pajamas, I slide the soft fabric on. It fits perfectly. Effie raps on the door a second time.

"Come to breakfast girls!" she trills in her silly accent. I sigh, and roll into a pair of simple leather boots, like those I would wear back in the district. Standing, Shura and I Shuffle out of the room, bleary-eyed.

"I got maybe… Three hours of sleep last night." Shura rubs the sleep out of her eyes, looking haggard.

"You?"

I open my eyes wide, and rub my let shoulder. "Same. I-" My speech is interrupted by a loud

"Hey, Ladies!" From down the hall. It's Andy, Aiden trailing behind him like a lost sheep. Grinning confidently, he strides towards us.

"You sleep well last night? Me and Aiden partied hard all evening." He seems confidant, but I notice his eyes are puffy, and his nose is slightly red. Aiden's eyes, however, are dry. Effie darts up the stairs, her silly shoes clicking on the floor.

"Oh, there you are!" She trills. "I've been looking all over! I thought one of the other tributes had gotten to you. Now Hurry! There isn't much time until training begins. She clicks away, and we follow like a trail of ducklings. Breakfast is a mound of flakey, warm bread filled with chocolate that was so smooth and buttery it dissolved when it hit your mouth. I stripped the pastry away, gulping down the smooth chocolate; sure I'll regret it when I have no energy in training. But I'm from district twelve. We're used to hunger. And, I reflect, Even a stomach full of buttery chocolate is better than a stomach full of nothing. To soon, Halt enters the room, squinting at us. When no one moves, he gives an impatient grunt.

"Come on then." He waves us towards the training room, then turns his back and stalks off. I reluctantly follow, and my fellows come with me. Shura returns to the weapon she had been wielding the night before-an axe with a long handle that ends in a spike-and the boys wander off to explore the rack of deadly, gleaming metal. I pick up the bayonet and slash at the dummies for a bit, trying to get a feel for the grooved steel. After a while, I become aware of someone watching me. Turning, I see a middle-aged man with vibrant yellow hair peering at me. I shrug, turning back to y training, but can't quite get into it. Something about the man watching me throws off my concentration. I go lift some weights. Don't need much focus for that. After roughly an hour of training, someone blows a whistle. I look up from the lever I'm struggling to pull forwards and glance at the man on the platform. It's my yellow-haired buddy.

"By now each of you will have selected and trained with a first weapon." He intones, clearly bored. Meet at the water bottle station and compare your tools." He gestures to a fridge full of clear bottles.

"May the odds be ever in your favor." I turn off the whirring motor on the high-tech machine I sit at, and wander over to the water stand, grabbing a bottle and twisting off the cap, taking an eager swig. The liquid is cool and refreshing, both in its hydration and familiarity. Water never differs, no matter where you are, so this bottle of water is the closest thing I have to my home. Which is sad. One by one, the other tributes file over. They all look sore and tired, and Andy sports a nasty black eye. He grins.

"That old man gave me quite the shiner."

Shura smirks. "I wonder what the prep team will make of that." I imagine their reaction, trilling in their silly accents, flitting around and touching the bruise gently. Wiping the snicker off my face, I look at the opposite wall, seeing the rows of gleaming steel lined up to kill.

"So." I comment. "What murder weapon has everyone chosen?"

"Alex!" Protests Shura.

"What?" I turn to her, struck by the futility of all of this. How no matter how hard you train, how much you work, you can still die in a split second. My old friend, Nolan, Had cheated death on several occasions. Escaped a wild cat, Crawled under the electrified district fence, and, of course, fought off starvation. But despite all of this, one day he tripped and fell, smacking his head on the paving stones. He never got up.

"What else should I call them? What else are they, but tools designed to kill?"

Shura looks astonished by my sudden outburst, ad I understand wh. Before now, The group seemed to have an unspoken agreement-that the games didn't exist, and we were all here as a luck coincidence, that the murder we would all commit it a few weeks time wouldn't happen. But now that I've mentioned the games, the purpose the tools lining the walls are for, Even Andy seems less chipper, as if the meaning of the reaping has suddenly sunken in.

Well, when you put it that way…" Shura's voice sounds very, very, small.

A.N. Soooo, I'm pretty satisfied with this chapter, but I could always use some Feedback. *coughcommentscough* Anyway, It's currently hailing where I am (Toronto, Ontario, Canada) and I have to go walk my dog now. In the hail. Yaaaaaaaaaaaay!


	7. Is this chapter 6 or 7?

AN: Iiiiiiiiimmmmmmm a horrible person. I didn't update for so long, and I had a week off A WEEK OFF AND I DIDN'T UPDATE. I'm really really sorry! So on to the story!

-Froginatub

-.-

I hurt. I hurt all over. My back aches, my ribs ache, my shoulders ache, my knees are throbbing, and my arms feel like noodles. Even my _face _hurts. Screw training. Let them kill me in the hunger games, but don't let that madman halt near me ever, ever again. Maybe I should back up a bit, though, right? You probably have no idea what I'm talking about.

At training, after my angsty out burst, we compared weapons. Shura's first weapon is a nasty looking axe-Blackish steel honed to a deadly sharp edge, and a handle that ended in a needle-sharp spike. Andy was wielding a Hammer, solid iron head, one end coming to a blunt point, the other flat and solid. The hammer had a smooth wooden handle, covered with a rubber grip. Little Aiden was clutching his weapon to his chest like it was vial to his survival. It was a carving knife, the kind a carpenter might use. My weapon, of course, was the bayonet- a grooved piece of mean-looking metal attached to a rubber handle. For the rest of the day, the group had lifted, run on, pushed, tugged, jammed, kicked and driven every piece of exercise equipment in the room. Flash forward to the present….

And you have me, lying on my bed. My face is buried in the fragrant pillows, and Shura is sitting gingerly on the bed next to mine, completely immobile, as if she will shatter if she moves slightly. A small, musical trill rings through a speaker, and a voice clips politely through our room.

"Lunch will be delivered in three minuets. After one hour to allow time to eat, you will be escorted back to the training centre." A closing musical flourish, and the speaker retracts into the wood paneling.

"Kill Me now" Shura moans.

"That'll happen soon enough" A rough voice says harshly. I look up slightly, and see Haymitch standing in the doorway. He smells strongly of rough alcohol, and sneers at me when he notices me looking.

"If you do win," He continues drunkenly,

"It will only be because everyone wants to talk to the legendary 'Katniss and Peeta.'" He spits on the carpet and stumbles away, crashing into the wall several times. I look over at Shura, having managed to pull myself upright. She gives a tense chuckle, and I smile, feeling the frozen way it creeps onto my face. We look away from each other, and Suddenly I'm regretting my out burst in Training. An awkward five minuets goes by, Then an Avox delivers our meal, bowing and leaving quickly, seeming to sense the tense atmosphere. I tuck into the food- Ham cooked in what seems to be honey, and roasted with potatoes that smell heavenly. Shura smiles as she loads her plate, and Sits on the couch to eat. I Pile my plate with the food and rest on the end of my bed, Inhaling the Creamy, rich food without pausing, than slurp down a bottle of the drink, which is a fizzy drink that tastes like honey suckle-sweet and fresh. It reminds me of summer, and I can't help but smile slightly. I grab two more bottles of the six on the tray, placing them in the sink, which I fill with ice-cold water to keep them chilled. Shura sees my do this, and takes a sip of her own drink. Her eyes light up, and she's soon drained the bottle. She places the other two bottles next to mine in the sink. I sit next to her on the couch, Idly flipping through garbage capitol reality shows, including a re-run of last years games. We quickly skip over that, but the image I see sticks in my head- A girl our age Coughing blood as he runs from someone. He turns, and I see our mentor Peeta-sort of. It was before he met back up with Katniss, and he is pulling a knife from the back of a girl who had started a fire. He looks up at the camera, face smeared in blood, and he looks savage- as far from polite, sweet Peeta as a Wild cat from a rabbit. I see Shura shudder, and know she saw it too-know she knows that the first casualty in the games is humanity. The scariest thing for me is that I Have begun to not care about loosing my conscience as long as I survive. Shura meets my eyes, and I see fear in them-pure, raw fear. I look away quickly, in time to see a, ad for a sale of '75th hunger games collectables!" including plushies of each tribute and a locket featuring the Panem TV. Logo on one side and the quarter quell logo on the other. A face fills the screen.

"Girls, it's time to come to training!" It's Effie; a powder-pink wig perched on her head. I look at Shura, who nods, and we stand and head down the stairs.


	8. Chapter 8 an exlpainable delay

AN: so, during April I didn't update because I was writing in something called script frenzy, where you have to write a 100 page script in a month, like what I did in November, but with scripts. I just didn't tell you this time. Sorry! Back to the story. Oh, and I've decided to skip tedious weeks of training and cut to the interviews, then, in a chapter or two, The arena!

After weeks of training, practice fights and lifting weights, the tributes have all become stronger. My muscles have hardened, and fighting with halt no longer ends in me bruised and aching, though he's still better than me. Tonight, interviews, then tomorrow, the Arena. Katniss has decided we can coach ourselves for the interviews. So Me and Shura ended up Watching a horrible cooking show hosted by a woman died alternating stripes of neon green and garish pink. We're in the middle of watching her bake what appear to be pies made out of pure chocolate, and Effie's face appears onscreen.

"Girls, it's time to get ready for your interviews!" I shrug, flicking off the screen and leading the way to the stylist's office, the layout of the building now familiar to me. Shura pads silently behind me, and gives me a quick hug before leaving to go see her stylist.

"Good luck" I walk into Cinna's office, and he greets me with a smile.

"Hello, Alex. It's good to see you." He holds out a dress, it looks blue, and I take the soft fabric. Pulling it on, I see that it's made of soft satin, and the purple-blue colour looks like the spot in the centre of a fire, a deceptively gentle colour that can sear flesh from bone in seconds. I see a lot of burns in district twelve.

"You look lovely. Cinna hands me a Sweater, soft wool on the inside, and I slip it one, noting that, on the outside, it's the same fabric as the dress. The sweater is a pink-red colour, like the coolest, outer part of the flame. Both articles of clothing flicker and change colour as I move, making me appear to be wearing Fire. Despite the sweater, I feel exposed, the short dress barely coming to my knees.

"Good luck." Cinna tells me.

"That's the second time someone's said that to me tonight." I tell him. "Save your luck to give me in the arena." He smiles, and repeats his earlier sentence.

"Good luck."

The interviews pass by in a blur, and all I remember from each are the weapons. Gleaming steel and wood, polished metal glinting cruelly in the harsh lighting. Then it's time for the tributes of district twelve. Shura goes first, as always, Leading the way. Her weapons will be on stage. A special part of these games is showing the weapons off to the audience in the interview.

"Hello, Shura." Caesar Flickerman greets Shura, hair and makeup a vibrant gold colour.

"Hello, Mr. Flickerman." She shakes the man's hand, sitting nervously on the edge of her seat. I already know what angle she's going for. Sweet and kind, everyone will love her. She's probably mentally slapping herself right now, though. The host laughs a deep belly laugh.

"You don't have to be so polite, dear. It's only me!" This gets a few chuckles. Shura smiles.

"Sorry, Caesar, It's just…" Shura motions at everything. "So big." Caeser laughs again, and puts his arms around her small shoulders.

"I know, sweetie. No, what have you chosen in the way of weapons?" He lifts the first choice, the axe, off the floor. Then the serrated, four-inch knife. He shows the audience her third weapon, a large metal ball welded to a length of metal rope, then another ball. It's made for tripping opponents. Her interview goes by too fast, then it's Andy's turn. He swaggers onto the stage confidently.

"Hello, Caesar." He greets the man with a handshake. "No offense, man, but I gotta ask, what's with the makeup?" He gestures at Flickerman. The big man chuckles.

"It's a routine, I suppose. What's with the purple suit?" He gestures at Andy, decked out in a suit the same colour as mine.

"This?" Aiden flexes his muscles. "It's to tone down my masculinity. The ladies couldn't take it if I came at them full force." He winks at the audience. Caesar and Andy compare muscles, each trying to 'out-man' each other. The audience roars with laughter. The weapons are worked into this routine, Andy raising his hammer and sickle above his head and giving a roar. Caesar takes the third weapon, a knife with a semi-circular blade. The two do a mock sword fight, Soon sitting back down.

"Andy, I have to ask, Why would you volunteer in place of your brother, 'pulling a Katniss' If you'll excuse the term." Aiden scuffs his foot on the ground, looking embarrassed.

"I-"He stops talking, aware that the audience has gone dead-silent. "I just love him too much to watch him die like that." He raises three fingers to his lips and holds them out to a camera in an old district twelve custom.

"I'm gonna win this one for you, Bro." you could hear a pin drop. Then a buzzer goes, and it's my turn for an interview. My legs wobble, and I enter the stage, Shaking Caesar Flickerman's hand and sitting down, worried I'll collapse if I don't sit down soon.

"Hello." I greet the legendary host quietly.

"Hello, Alex!" The host booming voice dwarfs mine. "How are you?"

"Fine. There are so many things to do here." Caesar laughs.

"There certainly are. What's your strategy for the games?" I couldn't have asked for a better question. Now it's time to show off how Bent on survival I am. Bet you can't guess what my angle is for the interview. I launch into strategies, and I begin to feel more confident as I talk, the new-found comfort making both me and Caesar speak better, the confidence bouncing back and fort between us like the feedback from a microphone. I show of my weapons, the bayonet, a wickedly sharp 30cm (one Foot) long knife, and a small metal cylinder with globes of the same stainless steel on each end. They're meant to smash the head, striking at the temple. I chat about what I would do if I was in the games right now, and Caesar sends me away with a positive outlook on my performance in the games. Then it's Aiden's turn, and the little boy walks out onto the stage. He and Caesar talk for a bit, Aiden gushing about the capitol and how amazing it is. When it comes time to show weapons, Caesar hold the carver's knife up

"My dad's a carver" He says, in response to Caesar's questioning gaze.

"He-"Aiden looks down. "He told me to win for him. My dad taught me to carve. I Miss him." The boy looks close to tears, So Caesar rushes the interview, displaying Aiden's other weapons- two more knives- and, with a flourish of the anthem, the interviews end, and we're told to get some sleep. I know I won't get any rest, but I have to try. After all, Tomorrow's going to be a big big big day.


	9. into the arena

AN: so, I've decided to update on a schedule. (Organization? Say it isn't so!) Anyway, I'll update every other Wednesday. So, if anyone's actually following this, you know when to check. (I might update in-between when I want to, but no often) Thanks so much to Rachna ()! I'm glad you like it.

As predicted, I couldn't sleep. I lay still all night, staring into the dark as I tried not to imagine the days to come. At about nine in the morning, Effie knocks on the door, grinning hugely.

"You already have lots of sponsors!" She trills happily. "It seems everyone wanted to talk to Peta. Katniss even smiled!" She grins and gestures for Shura and I to follow her. Shura Leaps out of bed easily. I guess she didn't get any sleep either. We follow Effie down the thickly carpeted hallways, and I realize I'm trying to walk silently, like I'm already in the arena. Forcing myself to relax, I step harder, my feet thudding lightly on the floors. Shura seems to sense my shift, and I see her force her feet down harder, so both of out footsteps join the clicking of Effie's heels.

"Here we are." Effie says. We've arrived at a door, and she opens it for us, revealing a large concrete circle. A hovercraft hovers over it, a barely perceptible whir coming from the engines.

"See you on TV!" Effie dancing away, her silly shoes tapping against the ground. A man exits the hovercraft, roughly grabbing my arm and jamming a needle into it. He does the same to Shura.

"Tracker." He mumbles by way of an explanation. I step onto the hovercraft, Shura sitting beside me on a leather seat. The craft takes off, the engines changing pitch slightly, the whine growing higher as we climb. I feel as if my stomach is being forced into my feet, and I can tell by the way Shura digs her fingernails into her leg that she feels the same. The engines quiet down as the craft levels, then the whole thing pitches forwards, moving quickly across the sky. The engines begin to groan again, propelling the craft forwards as I travel towards the place where I will die. Weather all of me or just my heart will die in the arena is yet to be decided. I realize I've been digging my fingernails into my arm, and release it, semicircles of blood left behind. Suddenly, the machine I'm in begins to level out, the engines again wailing as we descend. I'm led into a room separate from Shura by Cinna. He smiles at me tightly.

"Here." He hand me a bundle of clothing, the things I'll be wearing into the arena. The bundle contains simple black pants that hug my legs tightly, but still allow full movement, a grey-blue T-shirt that, again, hugs my skin tightly, and a grey sweater, the same colour of pavement. All of the clothing fits perfectly. Cinna smiles.

"You look lovely." He hands me my shoes, and what appears to be a belt. The boots fit well, and are clearly made for running and climbing, with rubber soles and soft leather that hugs my foot like a sock. The belt slings over my shoulder and clips around my waist with a dull metal buckle. The sash-like strips of leather had holsters in them, and Cinna slips my weapons into them, the Bayonet resting just at my hip, where I could reach it easily.

"Good luck." Cinna nods, and the circular platform I stand on rotates upwards into the arena, slowly taking me away from everything I'm used to, into a world where the only rule is death. Welcome to the 75th hunger games. Let the games Begin.


	10. Arena preview

AN: I'm such a troll. Ending the last chapter like that. Well, thanks to the nagging of my friend Nomi, I'm putting this one up early. Thanks to ELMO-fAN cLUB MeMbER for the favourite/comment, and to Alyi () for the review. To Alyi ()-the idea is that Snow made up the quell to get rid of Katniss- SC makes a point of telling the reader that Katniss thinks the Quell is a fake because it was, in my opinion (That's just my view, I could be completely wrong). Thanks for the comment, though.

The platform I'm standing on twists upwards slowly, and I can hear my hear pound in my chest. The platform grinds to a halt in the arena. And what I see makes my legs go weak, and I feel like vomiting my last meal. My fellow tributes ring a fallen building. The huge concrete structure seems to act as this year's cornucopia, crumbling grey stone and cracked pavement replacing the usual golden horn. The entire landscape resembles where I stand, cracked pavement covers the ground, and weeds are the only things that grow, clinging to hard, man-made surfaces. Rusty metal pipes litter the ground near the fallen building-apparently wrenched out of the ground when the building toppled. The wind is bitingly cold, cutting through my clothing and chilling me to the bone. But that's not the only thing that's making me shiver. The buildings, the pipes, the washed-out park I see in the distance? They point to one thing. The arena is one of the old cities. And as the wind howls cruelly, as the other contestants sneer, the Horn sounds, and the tributes are released into the bloodbath, the very first fight for survival among the washed-out ruins of an old city. I sure hope the odds are ever in my favour. I'll be dead soon if they're not.

An: so, what do you think of the arena? Yeah, an old city. Now the story will get exiting! :D I realize it's not long, but this chapter is just an arena preview, really. You'll have to wait for the actual update date for a real chapter! U mad?


	11. Smile

As soon as the bell rings, all forty-eight tributes lunge off their platforms. I scoop up a camping bag, hoping it contains something. I know immediately that there's food inside- the bag clanks conspicuously as the canned meals knock together. Whipping my head around, I spot Aiden zipping between other tributes, who ignore him to go after larger, more formidable adversaries. Andy is ducking around the outside of the circle, grabbing whatever he can get his hands on, brandishing the sickle if anyone gets close. I crane my head, finally spotting Shura, Who's wearing a bag like mine, and clutching a water bottle.

"District twelve!" She calls over the din of battle. "Come here- let's move out!" I make my way towards Shura, skirting the worst of the battle. As I reach about the halfway point, something whistles by my shoulder. Acting instinctively, I grab my knife, whipping it around to parry the whistling. I turn with the knife, rotating in time to see my blade clash with the sword of a boy from district five. Before he can react, I draw my bayonet and slash the razor-sharp edge along his throat. The brunet staggers back, clutching his neck, eyes wide. Adrenaline pounds though my veins, but all I can do is stare at the boy as he gasps for air, my own throat seeming to close up.

"Five, come here!" another brunette calls, Trying to assemble her teammates.

"Mel, here!" calls her district mate.

"Edison, here." Calls a third. The boy near my feet gurgles, and the first girl whips around, seeing me standing over him dumbly, to shocked to do anything.

"Grey?" she yells, taking in the blood gushing from under his hands, his whole upper body slick with red.

"GREY!" the girl runs to her fallen friend, clutching his shoulders. She whimpers as her friend bleeds out, and I finally have the presence of mind to run, fleeing the fallen boy, and the girl whose entire body is shaking with sobs.

"YOU KILLED HIM!" The girl yells. "YOU SON OF A BITCH YOU KILLED HIM!"

I run past Shura, Andy and Aiden, who see my whip by and sprint after me.

"Alex!" I hear someone call.

"Alex, slow down!" It was Shura that time, but I run until my knees buckle, and suddenly I'm crying. I'm clutching my head in my hands, smearing someone else's blood all over my face. Looking up, sucking air in between pathetic sobs, I see that I've managed to enter the husk of what I'm sure was once a majestic building. I shake my head, staggering to my feet. I have to put a hand out to steady myself, and as I do, I see the bayonet, still coated in the boy's blood. Uneasiness wells up in my stomach, forcing me to brace my forearm against the wall, expelling the contents of my stomach. As I retch, the other three enter the building, feet scuffling on the dusty floor.

"Alex, are you okay?" Shura runs over, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm fine, I just-"Unable to finish my sentence, I gesture to the bloody weapon, miming a slashing motion across my neck.

"Oh, god, Alex I'm sorry." Shura hugs me, and then picks up the bayonet, cleaning the blood off it.

"What happened?" Andy comes over, smelling the vomit and wrinkling his nose with distaste.

"Alex killed someone." Shura said quietly. Andy swallowed nervously.

"Good." That was Aiden. "Now we have one less enemy. It's nothing to be upset about."

I'm shocked to hear such callous words issue from the Boy's mouth, and I turn.

"That's the way it'll be for the next few months. Better get used to it." The little boy is tossing his knife around in a circle, watching it spin in the air and catching it again red reflects off the blade. I'm not the only one who's killed today.

"Aiden, did you kill someone? Are you okay?"

The boy begins to grin.


	12. she wants me dead

AN: sooooooooooooooooo…. Um, I updated late last week, but I'll update today to make up for it. So, here it is. Chapter.. twelve now? Thanks to **ninja in black** for the author alert.

The first night in the arena crept by slowly, four pairs of eyes straining into the surrounding blackness. When dawn broke, relieved grins were exchanged, and Shura began cooking a tin of food.

"Do I smell beans?" Andy opens one bloodshot eye. "I love me some beans for breakfast."

"I love it when I can get breakfast" Aiden wanders over to the small fire Shura has managed to start. No one replies.

"Did anyone see the death toll last night?" Is hold my hands over the flame.

"I did." Aiden chimes in. "19 dead." It's a staggering amount. Usually the beginning death toll is around ten.

"Who?"

"The red head from six, both girls in nine, the small boy from three," I see Shura's eyebrows go up. Careers don't usually die in the bloodbath. "Al four from Twelve, the boy from five," my stomach roils, thinking of the brunette I killed yesterday.

"I don't remember the rest, but there were no more careers." Aiden shrugs, seeming not to care that twenty people have died already.

"Beans, anyone?" Shura shoves the beans out of the fire with a stick, trying to lighten the mood.

"Do we have a can opener?" I ask, staring at the closed can. Andy jams an axe into the can, popping off the lid.

"Yes." He says, hot beans spilling onto the floor. I shrug, picking up beans with a stick and jamming them into my mouth.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask.

"I suppose we should make our base stronger. " Shura gestures at the surrounding building.

"How do we do that?" Andy says around a mouthful of beans.

"I…" Shura pauses. "I'm not quite sure." Aidan laughs derisively.

"All you need to do it brick up the doorways. Then we can move upstairs, and we'd be practically impregnable, unless the other tributes can climb." He says it as if the rest of us are idiots for not knowing.

"So let's go find some cinderblocks." Shura took charge, seemingly to make up for Aiden's rant on her incompetence.

"I'll take north." She pointed at me. "You take south. Aiden-east, Andy, you get west." So we split up. I wandered through the decrepit city, broken glass crunching under my feet. Wind howled, making me pull the sweater tightly around myself. Eventually, I came to a park, full of scraggly weeds and trees. I smiled. It was the first green thing I'd seen for ages. As I admired the scenery, voices drifted to me from around the corner of a nearby building. Lacking a better place to hide, I clambered up the nearest tree. A girl darted into the park area.

"Nomi-" a fair-haired boy chased the brunette into the clearing.

"Don't call me that!" She screamed, whirling to face the boy. "Only he called me that!" The boy backed up, and a second girl joined them, a blond.

"What's going on?" She spotted the girl, who was crying angrily. "Oh, Naomi, calm down. he's dead, you can't-" The dark-haired girl grabbed the Blond by the throat, lifting her off the ground and slamming her into a tree.

"I know He's DEAD!" the girl called Naomi screamed, dropped the other girl on the ground. "of course He's dead, why don't you care? Why don't you want to go after them?"

"Naomi-" The boy started, reaching out to placate her

"Fuck off!" she slapped the boy. "Fuck off, James! If you won't Help me fine the bastards who killed him, We're enemies!" She stormed off, leaving the boy clutching a bleeding nose, and the blonde girl clutching her throat. And I feel like vomiting again. Because I recognize the girl. She's the one who's friend I killed. And She wants me dead.


	13. unlucky thirteen

A/N hullo. Sorry for the delay. Thanks to nchinchilla for the review and story alert, and in reply, ugh, I did say that, didn't I? Thanks to LoneWolfPa ck for the story favourite. I feel so loved! Thanks so much to everyone who's reading this! You guys rock! 122 hits this month! 317 last month! I just can't thank you enough! But you're not here for me. I'll start writing now.

I drop from the tree, landing on shaky legs. I can hear the two others from district five sprinting after their grieving teammate. My head is spinning, and the beans I had for breakfast seem like they were ages ago, but I've had worse. As Aiden had commented, we were lucky to even have breakfast. So I wander the cracked streets of the decrepit city, searching for cinderblocks. The jagged old buildings seem to sneer at me, crumbling facades gaping open like mouths. The twisted metal pipes that sprout from the side walk casts odd shadows, And I jump as the light shifts and dances.

"Alex, this is ridiculous. You're literally scared of your own shadow." I murmur to myself, but it does nothing to calm me nerves, my eyes darting around every time one of the old buildings groans.

"on the contrary, there's nothing stupid about it at all." I jump at the sound of someone else's voice, immediately whipping out my knife and spinning to find the speaker.

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you," The voice purrs from the shadows.

"Come out then." I've located where the speaker must be standing. An alleyway-almost pitch black because a building has fallen over top of it.

"Well now Alex, I'm not sure that's a good Idea." The boy's voice- and I'm sure it's a boy- drips out of the shadows.

"Come on, Josh!" a different voice. I recognise this one- A career. And I know what's happening. The career pack is toying with me, like a cat plays with its dinner. I've seen it happen enough on T.V. I know how this works. But I won't go down without a fight.

"Fine. But next time, don't be so impatient. You've ruined my fun." the boy called Josh hisses, and four people leap from the shadows, bearing down on me with weapons drawn. But I'm not around long enough to see what they are, because I'm scrambling up the side of the fallen building, knife clanging against the steel sides.

"where is she?" 'Josh' yells, eyes darting around the crumbling street, wicked sword flipping between his hands. I can see his teammates back away, and he notices, whirling on one of them.

"YOU!" he grabs the boy's weapon, a hammer, and throws it on the ground. The smaller boy flinches as his weapon clangs against the ground.

"You let her escape" Josh continues, slamming the boy's head into the wall.

"Sorry." The boy is clutching his nose, thick blood dripping out under his hand.

"Sorry?" Josh's voice is deadly quiet. "SORRY?" the smaller boy flinches away from him.

"Well,_ I'm_ sorry, but sorry won't cut it." He advances on the younger, unarmed, career, and I turn, running on top of the building, and jumping to the next one. A scream echoes in the small street below, but There's a small wooden plank leading to the next building, And I'm focusing crossing it, so I can just about pretend I don't hear the scream and the whimpering in the ally way below. As it turns out, almost all of the buildings are connected by beams, so I can cross over to the building we're making camp in without touching the ground.

"Who's there?" Andy calls up, voice shaking. He must've heard my footsteps.

"It's Alex" I call down. "I climbed onto the roof. I'll come down and meet you." I drop into the glass-and-steel building. Andy's head peeks around the corner, and, upon seeing that it's really me, reaches up to help me down the rusty janitor's stairs and into the building itself.

"did you find anything?" Aiden is sitting in the building, he's back from the scavenge too.

"Only a career pack" I say, slumping onto the ground.

"Mmm. How many?" Aiden pokes at something roasting over a the flame.

"Four." I think of the boy whose nose was broken. "Possibly only three now."

Aiden looks at me. "Did you not bother to count?" He hisses, voice uncannily like Josh's in the ally.

"I did count- it's just," I explain what happened to the boys, pausing to summarize when Shura walks in. Aiden listens intently as I tell my story.

"So all of the buildings are connected by the roofs?" He asks, eyes slitted as he thinks.

"yeah." I say, watching Aiden process the information, gears seeming to turn in his mind.

"And the Career pack is weak now- if we run across the roofs we can catch them!" the boy leaps to his feet, brimming with energy.

"Aiden!" Shura looks at the boy, shock resonating in her voice.

"Yeah?" He hovers by the stairs, eager to be gone.

"a member of that team just killed someone on his own team- what do you think he'd do to us?" She looks upset. "and we can't go interact with someone who'd do something like that- Who'd kill-" Aiden cuts her off.

"You don't want to kill them, do you?" He narrows his eyes at Shura. "You're not brave enough."

"Aiden I-" Shura starts, but the twelve-year-old cuts her off again.

"You _what_? You're not brave enough?" He tightens his fingers around the hilt of his knife. "We have to KILL people, Shura. K-I-L-L. Are you scared of that? Is that bad? To survive?" the boy seems to tower over Shura, who flinches back. "this is the Hunger games. Kill or be killed. I choose the live- I'm going to survive, even if it means ditching this pathetic, snivelling band of fools who need a TWELVE YEAR OLD to wipe their asses for them." The boy's eyes blaze, and he's panting.

"Aiden, I'm sorry." Shura sound very, very small.

"Sorry?" he hisses, as the boy in the ally did. He fingers his knife. Without thinking, I lift the boy off the ground, wrapping my arms around his ribs and crushing the air out of them. The boy stop talking, And I feel him shaking. I put him back on the ground, and the boy's shivering, silent tears streaking his cheeks. Shura's shaking too- in fear, probably, her eyes wide. Andy, sitting in the corner, is silent- he just sits, staring at the boy who almost killed Shura. The teen notices me looking and opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He closes his eyes. And it'd be nice to do so, to block everything out. But I can't. Because there are footsteps overhead. And I know who it is- no one else would follow me, stalk me. No one else has anything to prove- or avenge.


	14. Death?

A/N: Hey. I'm a terrible person. But Minecraft 1.8 came out today, and I decided to write a new chapter instead of playing that. So some kudos for that, I guess.

"District Twelve." A voice echoed down through the hatch in the top of the building.

"I know where you live, District twelve." The voice hissed into the room like deadly gas, and there was a pounding on the roof.

"Come on out, district twelve."

"There Are four of us!" I yell up, and she laughs.

"You, the damsel in distress, the child, and the crybaby. I'm Terrified."

"We're worth more then you think." I manage, trying to stay strong. I know every camera in the arena must be trained on my right now, me and the girl on the roof.

"What's this?" her voice lilts, and there's a clunk. "It seems little district twelve has gotten a present. Look at that pretty silver parachute. I could just steal it…"

I flinch. She must be lying- why would Katniss and Peta send us something right now?

"I might just unwrap it- don't you want your present, district twelve? Come and get it."

Now I'm certain every camera is trained on us.

"What do you want from me? Why don't you go get some other tribute?" I yell up, trying to buy time as she pounds methodically on the hatch. The pounding stops.

"No one else is a challenge. Not the careers, not the other tributes in my group. Will you be a Challenge?"

"No. I'm from district twelve. I'm a coal miner's daughter."

"Yes, but I have a score to settle." She gives the hatch a pound, and it bends inward slightly.

A huge noise echoes through the air, obliterating my thoughts, filling my lungs with smoke and noise. I immediately think that somehow a tribute has died, and the canon was launched off of the building. But that's stupid.

"I'm still here, district twelve." The girl form eleven coughs, but she doesn't sound very menacing. Her voice is scratchy and hoarse.

"I'm still alive…" I see silver drifting though the air- Another parachute. It has a slip of paper attached to it.

"Bomb" It's written in The Mine shorthand, designed so those trapped in the mines could write quick letters for help. So the letter is actually ^ - ^^ ^. In the seam, though, most kids grow up learning Shorthand, so I can read it fine.

"Alex, what was that?" A voice echoes through the smoke."

"Haymitch sent us a present to get rid of that district eleven girl."

"A present?"

"Yes. A very nice, fiery present." I toss the note to whoever's speaking.

"A bomb? Did he know that we were in the building?"

"I don't think he cares. But 'm okay, you're okay- How's everyone else?"

"I'm fine!" It's someone else I Can't Identify- Coughing obliterates their speech.

"I'm alive." Echoes the fourth member of our team."

"Alright, everyone, the building appears to be on fire."

"Appears to be?" Demands someone- It must be Aiden.

"Alright, fine. Guys, the building we're in is burning the Fuck down, we should get out."

"I can't." That can't be shura- the voice is too deep.

"Andy? What's wrong?"

"It's funny. I always thought I'd die in a mine cave-in." His voice lofts through the smoke. "But Instead, I'll die in this building, the same way people die in the mines. Trapped and burning."

"No- No no no no no no no. No, Andy, hold on, We'll get you out."

A canon shot echoes, hanging in the air.


	15. Tar and blood

A/N: Thanks to ninja in black for the review, and hawkpaw44 for the story alert! you probs hate me for leaving the last chapter like that. Problem, Bro?

-froginatub

The building was collapsing around me. I had two of the other tributes with me. The sound of a canon still echoed in the air. I couldn't believe it was true, though. Aiden couldn't be dead. He was alive, right there, seconds ago.

"Andy?" my voice sounded thin and quiet next to the roar of the fire.

"I'm still here. Who died?" His voice was rough, like sandpaper grating against stone.

"I'm fine. Shura? Aiden?" I was greeted by two coughing affirmations of life.

"Then who?" I ask, the question no one wants to answer.

"Maybe the girl that blew up." Shura says hopefully.

"Yeah, probably." I say. Another threat gone.

"Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but the building is collapsing around us. Can we GET OUT and then exchange gossip and sip tea?" Aiden, of course. He doesn't seem to be dealing with the stress of the games very well.

"But Andy…"

"Oh, for the love of god." Aiden shoves past me, walking into the smoke of the burning building. He exits the smoke seconds later, Andy limping beside him.

"Aiden! You did it! How-"

"Take Andy, and let's get out." Aiden snarls, and climbs onto the roof of our collapsing building.

"Aiden! This isn't a mine. You want to go down, not up!" He doesn't answer.

"Aiden!" I call, and follow him up. I see the boy limping across the wooden bride that connected the buildings, the one I ran across earlier. He doesn't look back, just darts across the board.

"Shura! Come on up! There's a way across." I begin across the plank myself, Andy semi-conscious behind me. Turning, I see Shura climbing, Coughing, into the open air and blinking in the firelight.

"Come on!" I wave her over, having reached the next building. It was a solid stone affair, it wouldn't catch fire like the old shelter.

"Is your boyfriend okay?" Andy sneers, sitting cross-legged on the gravel roof.

"He's fine- I think. Bleeding a bit-" I ignore the 'boyfriend' jab. It's not the time for that. I rub my hand over my face, and feel something slick and warm of my cheek. I know what it is. Blood. Horrified, I bring my hand down and look at it. deep crimson.

"Andy?" I shake him, and my hand comes away red. Not thinking about what I'd do when I got it off, I started fumbling wit his shirt.

"Are- Are you guys okay?" Shura. She took awhile getting here.

"Shura. Thank god I thought-" I get Andy's shirt off. His arm is not something I would like to see. Coated in thick, hot blood. It's sliced to the bone.

"Andy, what happened to you?" his eyelids fluttered.

"Your boy was trapped by some cable. I cut it. Looks like my knife slipped. Oops." Aiden played with the knife, firelight gleaming off the blood on the blade.

"Here." Shura dumped a backpack in front of me. "This is why I took so long."

She had brought the stuff with her. That means- I ripped the bag open.

"First aid. Thank you, Shura." I shut her reply out, unwrapping the gauze and binding Aiden's shoulder as best I could. The bandage soaked through unsettlingly fast.

"Shit." I wrapped more gauze around the cut, cursing.

"Alex, I know another way to save him." Aiden grimaces, and holds up a stick covered in a thick, black substance. Even he looks uncomfortable.

"Aiden is that-"

"Tar. Yeah." He reaches over, and peels the soaked bandages off of Andy's arm

"Aiden, you can't-"

"He'll bleed out. He's already burned from the fire. Why is this so wrong?" I step back, allowing Aiden to smear the tar onto Andy' shoulder. It steams, and the distinct smell of burning skin filled the air. Andy woke up, and met my eyes. His eyes said 'help me'. Then he screamed.


	16. search and recover

A/N: not really updating as often as I used to. And next month I'll be off in the land of insomnia, writing a novel for NANOWRIMO. So I decided to write this for you, if I still have any readers. And I know I keep mixing up Andy (the older one) and Aiden ( the crazier one) I'm sorry- working on that.

With a resounding crash, the building we had been sleeping in collapsed, jerking me out of a fitful half- sleep. The pre-war building was crumbling into a pile of cinders, fire still cracking angrily. I wondered how much the bomb had cost- a lot. That means we had good sponsors, even if they had bad judgment.

"Well, looks like we need a new place to sleep." Aiden sat beside me, no hint of the usual cynicism in his voice.

"Yeah. But hey, one threat gone, right?" I stared out over the smoking ruins.

"Yeah." The embers were reflected in his serious eyes.

"Hey, Aiden, it'll be okay. We'll get through this."

"Thanks." But the cynic in Aiden was back- the 'thanks ' was little more then a sarcastic sneer.

"Food?" Came a sleepy, scratchy voice from behind me. I turned. Shura was blinking the sleep out of her eyes, yawning widely.

"None yet. You want to cook us a can?"

"nnm." She replied, but staggered over to the backpack with our food in it. I guess that meant she was cooking.

"Watch it with the food, Shura." Aiden called sharply. "We don't have much left, and I doubt you would be open to alternative foods." He emphasized 'alternative', like he was suggesting something I didn't understand.

"Alternative?" I asked, but Aiden just smiled crookedly, looking away. I gave the boy the benefit of the doubt and assumed he was talking about eating squirrel.

"Who… Shit." I heard a mutter from the back of the 'camp' and turned- Andy was stirring, muttering things that would keep the censorship crew in the capitol quite busy.

"You okay?"

"It feels like someone cut my arm off." he grimaced, shifting so he has lying on his back.

"Well-"

"You didn't cut my arm off, did you?" he looked over, panicked.

"No. you just got… cut." Aiden smiled his nasty smile.

"I hate to interrupt your well-deserved panic-attack, Andy, but I've got breakfast. Shura was waving a can of greenish mush that may have once been peas.

"I'm not complaining." Aiden shrugged, and dug into his helping of the 'vegetables'. Breakfast passed in hungry silence as people ate.

"You know what?" asked Aiden, once he had licked his plate clean.

"What?"

"We should find new shelter. We're all full on that lovely Mush, and we do need a new place." He looked at me as it he was in charge.

"Aiden, Andy probably can't do much moving around right now?" I reminded him, but he cut me off.

"I don't want to have that needs of the many/needs of the few argument with you, Alex. Lets pack up and get going.

With the midday sun at our backs, the tributes of district twelve set off for new shelter, Clearing our lungs of smoke and stretching our legs as we walked through the ghost- town, searching for the home we never had.


	17. 50 Lashes

An: hello. Just so you know, no updates in November, as I'm doing Nanowrimo, an event where you write a fifty thousand-word story in one month. I have been reading through the comments, and I love all the positive support I'm getting- you guys are awesome!

Write on, Froginatub

I coughed, throat raw from the smoke I'd inhaled the day before. The day had started well we had eaten the 'peas', packed up, and headed out to search for new shelter. The sun had been warm, the breeze gentle- if it wasn't the hunger games, I might have even enjoyed myself.

But the hunger games it was. And the breeze had turned strong, the sun hiding behind a cloud. As the weather cooled, the coughing had started. First, it had been Aiden- forging ahead, calling insults back at us when we didn't hurry up. His angry urging had dissolved into a fit of dry coughs, wracking his small frame.

I asked if he was all right, but Aiden insisted that he has fine, so we forged on. The coughing got worse, until we were the ones urging Aiden to hurry up, not the other way around. I sometimes forgot how young Aiden really was. Barely out of grade six, he was small for his age. He talked so big, it was easy to forget that he was just a little kid.

Throughout this, poor Andy had been ignoring the painful burn, and oozing blood, on his arm, cursing every now and then. He ended up giving Aiden a piggy back, after Aiden said

"You might as well leave me and Andy behind. We're no good to you right now. We can't even keep up. Andy had scooped the little boy onto his back and. Ran ahead, as if to prove he could.

Then I got the cough- it had started out harmless enough, a dry, sharp bark of noise every few minuets. Slowly, my throat became raw, and now very couple of steps I have to pause and bend over as coughs tear through me.

We're still moving, though. Aiden seems to have gotten it into his head that we need to have shelter before nightfall, as if monsters will cone out at night and attack us if we don't have somewhere to stay.

' Aiden, anywhere good to sleep around here?" that was Shura.

" Plenty of places" came the reply. I froze. That wasn't Aiden's voice. This voice was deeper and more controlled, like he was a game maker, not a tribute.

"Andy? You see a place to sleep?" It must be Andy- Aiden's voice wasn't that deep yet, but there was the scratch of smoke in it.

"Everywhere. You could sleep right here, right now."

I looked back, and Andy looked confused, holding his hands up in a 'what?' gesture.

"Do you want to sleep?" Andy's mouth wasn't moving. I turned slowly, with the feeling it was too late. Dreading what I'd see, I faced the place the voice was coming from.

"We meet again." He said smugly. A huge figure, easily twice my weight, stared at me. It was him. The one who'd cornered me in the alley, just the day before.

"Hello." I said, trying-and, I assume, failing, to keep the panic out of my voice.

"Hello." He said, with a dip of his head. I hated this pretense of false civility. It was obvious this teenager was about to kill my teammates and I.

"You don't look to great." He commented mildly, taking in the burnt clothing and various small cuts and bruises covering me.

"You don't look awesome yourself." It was true. The huge figure in front of me was covered in shiny-pink second-degree burns, and the collar on his neck had melted, fusing to the dead-looking skin on his neck.

"We must have been in the same fire." He replied easily. He was better at this game than I was. But then, He'd been born into it. All the time, we were sizing each other up. He took in our size, (small) our weight (too thin) our physical condition (injured, coughing) and our number. Though there was only one of him, he was stronger, bigger, older, and better fed. We were no match.

"I've got a bit of a score to settle."

"Oh, really?" now he was starting to cut to the chase.

"Yes. See, you stole something from me." The big tribute's hands went behind his back. That was probably where his weapon was.

"I did?" I exaggerated my actual surprise.

"You did." He confirmed. "You see, I had you cornered, and I was about to kill you, and claim your weapons, and your life.

"Oh." Subtly was the key, and I had none.

"Quite. So I'm here to claim what's mine." The civil, conversational tone of the career contrasted with the mean, 12-inch blade he held. I drew my bayonet, taking a wild stab for his stomach.

"Is that all you have?" the career sidestepped easily.

Training flew out the window as I tried desperately to avoid the wildly swinging sword, throwing my own weapon in the way of his, avoiding death by centimetres as the steel whistled by.

"You're not bad, for a twelve." He said. I was panting to hard to reply.

"No reply? How rude." He tutted, and his sword flicked like a tongue, painting a stripe of red on my cheek. Shocked, a stepped back, letting me guard down to cover the freely bleeding cut.

"You dropped your broken sword, silly." There was no trace of politeness in the career's voice anymore. He lunged, sword plunging straight at my throat, and missing. It struck into the ground beside me, ad the career laughed.

"You missed." I said, shrinking from the blade in the ground beside me.

"You didn't think I'd make it that easy. Did you?" the career retrieved something from the inside pocket of their coat.

"No, I think I'll kill you slowly. Thieves need to be punished. It was a whip. He as going to whip me to death?

"No… That's-" my words were cut off by an involuntary puff of air. The whip had gone singing across my chest, ripping a hole in the fabric, and the skin under it.

"20 lashes is the punishment for thieves in my district." He noted mildly, sending the whip cracking against me again. It hurt more then I thought.

"But, then, murder, stealing a life, is punished by 50 lashes, then death."

He kicked me, flipping me onto my front, and kicked me again, bruising me.

"You took you life away from me." He noted. The whip sung again, and I jerked violently as it-slashed open my back. Where was everyone else? Were they to scared to help?

5 lashes. I could feel warm, sticky liquid pooling under me.

10. The cuts were started into pile over each other, cutting deeply.

15. I think the lashes might kill me before he's done.

20. The edges of my vision are going dark.

25- is all that blood coming from me?

I lost count. I was starting to lose consciousness. I was losing a lot of blood. After what must have been three hundred lashes, I heard a howl like an animal, and I opened one of my eyes, just enough to see a dark shape leap onto my attacker, screaming with one long, drawn-out note, not seeming to pause for breath.

The lack of pain was almost like my heart stopping. I gasped, rolling and wincing as the cuts on my back twisted, and I slipped away, giving in to the darkness that furred my mind.

A/N: that's it. See you in December!


	18. a familiar face

AN: Happy holidays.

-Froginatub

The rain-cloaked street was slick with water and blood and grime, the only noise filling the air was rain pounding the broken city, and four sets of footsteps slapping through puddles, trudging through the miserable wet.

I'd been fine after the whipping. My back was still tearing open, lines of scab opening into lines of blood that soaked my already rain-wet shirt, seeping into the jacket that was plastered to my shoulders and arms.

"When are we stopping." It wasn't a question. It was a routine. Every so often, someone would say the line, like we were rehearsing it. no one knew when we were stopping, no one knew when we would find a new building, one where we could feel safe. The assumption was that when we found new shelter, we would just _know. _

So we trudged on, coughing, cold, wet, bloody. The career who had let me get away was either crazy or very, very smart. The four of us were sullen, confused, scared. And they had to look after me, who was still loosing blood, who would certainly recover, but only if we stepped out for a bit.

"There." Aiden, who was the only one not staring at the sopping ground, pointed out a building. No windows. Just on door- thick, solid steel. It was black stone, squat, sticking out like a sore thumb from the high, elegant buildings around us. Two small glass windows peered out onto the cracked street from under the overhanging slate roof.

"Agreed." That was Andy. I shrugged and stepped towards the building, entering the shelter of the overhang, finally out of the rain, except for the water lapping at my feet.

"I'm in." Shura opened the door, and we all walked inside, the rusted door clanging shut behind us. The floor was dry, but covered in dust and wood and steel. The floor above us had collapsed into itself, leaving a roughly round hole, I-beam bones and shards of wood sticking out through the cracking, dying stone tiles, giving me a spectacular view of the cathedral-like steel roof, crisscrossed with supports like the stained glass roof of a church.

"It's perfect" I muttered, not realizing that I'd said anything until I'd said it. Without a reply, or much thought, I started clearing off the floor, shifting debris to the corners of the room. The floor was made of smooth tiles, dull black-silver, each tile joined seamlessly with the next. As I cleared more and more of the garbage crowding the ground, new tiles emerged. Yellow. Fire-yellow. With orange and red and gold. And the black, I realized, was coal-black. I'd seen that colour enough to recognize it.

"Oh my god." Breathed Shura- I saw why. The gold, the fire-colour, was a mockingjay. Not like the one on the famous pin, but a bird, wings spread wide, the familiar patterns spelled out in shades of shimmering fire.

The bird was cracked down one side, where the wing met the body. The there was a massive iron beam, thick as my torso, on the other wing.

"Someone's not a fan." Aiden whistled. The bird was a message- not a very subtle one, but a message nonetheless. Spelled out in the elements of our district, in the twelfth building on the street. Someone didn't like out district's newfound freedom. Someone- and it had to be a game maker- didn't want us out of the arena. Not alive.

"Guys?" Andy asked. I turned. There, on the ground, was a parachute. And inside, glittering gold in the wavering light, were four mockingjays.

I never quite saw what Katniss was trying to explain when she said the mentors would send you messages through the gifts. But this message was clear as day.

Stay strong. There's someone rooting for you. I pinned the bird to my shirt, and became the next winner of the hunger games. She got her teammate out- so could I.


	19. Boiling Point

AN: I'm a bad person, but hey, Hunger games movie, right? It was almost completely perfect. Fantastic. There may have been some cosplaying on my part. Just a little.

Froginatub

Cannons rang through the sky, over and over, the rippling sound of death. I don't know if a week or four passed, but we waited, and we healed, and we listened. There was not much food to be had in the husk of a city. It's a good thing we didn't mind eating bugs. And there _were _plenty of those.

"Alex?" It was Aiden. He and I were on the night watch, and I had zoned out, staring into the hazy night of the broken city.

"Yeah?" I sighed, dragging my finger along the coal-black tile.

"We could kill them." The comment is surprising, and I don't quite understand, not at first. The suggestion is just so far from anything I'd ever thought of that it doesn't compute.

"Sorry, What?"

"You know, never mind. I didn't say anything." He sounds bitter, and I can feel his eyes boring into me in the darkness. But morning comes with everyone alive, and it comes with the humidity of the big city. It feels like the air sits low to the ground, as if the heat is trapped between the buildings, and just crushes your lungs. The days are longer now. Even the tough cockroaches are leaving. I know there aren't many of us left- we listened to the careers slaughter each other days ago. Time has moved jerkily, and I'm disoriented, tired, and hungry. It's time to go. We have to do something, or something will find us- and it'll find us with the force of an earthquake.

"Up. Everyone up. Now." I snap. Funny, I always thought Shura would be the one to lead us. She was prettier, funnier. She was the crowd favorite. Now she was just a scared kid. There were no complaints, everyone was awake and on their feet in seconds.

"We need to give them some action, or there'll be a fire, or an earthquake, or a swarm of fucking Tracker Jackers." No arguments. 

"We could go hunting for someone." Andy suggested, not sounding keen on the idea. Hunting for someone meant going head-to-head with three or four other tributes. As it turned out, we didn't have to go hunting. Trouble found us, in the form of a vengeful tribute, one whom I'd wronged.

"Twelve." The voice I'd recognize anywhere. I swallow.

"Naomi, is it?" I ask, and she hisses at me. The girl is standing in the doorway, and she does not look healthy. Stick-thin, sunken eyes, hair greasy and patchy. My fellow tributes are sitting, stupefied, as she enters our new home.

"That's my name, yeah. And I brought a friend." I turn, trying to see what she means. My teammates are doing the same and Naomi Laughs derisively.

"Look up, dip shit." With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I stare into the cathedral-like ceiling, and there hangs the boy who hates me, who'd caught me and released me, playing with his prey like a cat with a mouse. I don't remember his name, I don't remember if I ever knew his name. Right now, all I care about is that he has a crossbow.

"Twelve. Alex, is it? Looks like your friends are alive." He jerks his hand on the crossbow, and I flinch, but the gleaming steel bolt is still on the bow. The career laughs.

"Here's the deal- you give up Alex, and we'll leave your little team alone." He directed this at the others, and before the boy in the rafters was done talking, Aiden was nodding.

"Why Her?" He asks, and Shura Smacks him.

"Aiden!" We can't give her up. She's on our side. He looks at her flatly, blank, dangerous eyes, black as coal, staring Shura down. She quails under the gaze.

"Aiden, I'd fight to protect you, and you know it. Don't do this." I'm aware that at any moment, the string of the Career's bow could release, sending a bolt tipped in gleaming, razor-sharp steel ripping towards us. But they want to toy with us instead, the Career and the girl who wants revenge.

"If you won't give yourself up, I'll give you up myself." There's a ring of steel-on-steel, and Aiden is holding a blade in each hand, this twelve-year-old boy staring me down with knives in his hands. The anger and bitterness I'd seen in the boy had come to a boiling point, and he was ready to kill me.

"You don't have to do this…" Shura starts, but it's clear that the boy has made up his mind. Andy, still silent, draws his sickle. I don't know how I got here; I never really expected to be in a place where I could win. But I'm certain that in this building stand that last six people alive in this Arena. If we kill them, we go home. Three sets of eyes stare me down, wanting revenge, perhaps just wanting an answer. And I wonder when this game became all about me.

AN Ha, sucks if you thought there was any way I wouldn't leave this as a cliffhanger.


	20. This is it

AN: Marginally timely updates? Say it isn't so!

My heart is racing. I can feel my mouth go dry as I fumble in my belt, grabbing at my bayonet. It catches as I free it from its holster, and Aiden laughs.

"I can't believe I ever thought you could win."

"I can. I will win. You can win too, Aiden. All of us. Four years of supplies. Please." I can hear my voice get desperate, and he snarls.

"You won't win." He leaps at me, making this chocking, growling noise that nudges the standoff out of it's tentative truce. Suddenly, steel is ringing and people are yelling- I hear a harsh shout as the career jumps from his perch in the ceiling, landing with a bone-crunching thud. A cannon shot sounds soon after, and I see Shura dance by me, blood on her blade, eyes wide and white and feral.

Andy and Shura have got their hands full with Aiden, who attacked them once I pushed him off. Now The girl from five and I are circling each other. I have my bayonet drawn, and she's holding a barbed crossbow bolt in her left hand and a knife in the other.

I eye her, and wonder why it came to this. But of course it did. Of course it's her. It was always her. Ever since the start, it was all about me and her. Just because her boy got in my way when my hand was running faster than my mind. Without warning, she lunges forwards, and I step back, and-

I trip. The crack, the one supposedly symbolizing a lack of freedom, has caught my foot, and I crack my head on the ground, and as soon as I'm down, She's on top of me, eyes wide, blood dripping freely from one cheek. She looks feral, and her arms, the ones that press a knife to my throat, are skeletal.

No words are exchanged, and none have to be. She will kill me. I know that. She always was going to kill me, wasn't she? A life for a life. That's how it works. I know that. I come from a place were that law is more real then any coming from the capitol. I close my eyes and sigh, turning my head to the side. The small movement slices my neck open, not deep enough to kill, but it stings, and the feel of warm blood makes me buck involuntarily, my instinct to live overpowering my will to settle the score I owe. I swallow the feeling and turn again, staring into Her eyes, seeing no compassion there, just flat black anger. I wonder idly what her life will be like when she leaves the arena. A small part of me disagrees with that, the same part that rebelled against the Hunger games in the first place.

Life for life. I killed her teammate. She will kill me. I feel the knife press down as she prepares to kill me, and I half-wish she would just get it over with already.

The knife is gone. The girl's weight is gone. All notions of fairness dissipated, I jump to my feet- Naomi is alive, snarling, pinned to the ground. By Aiden. He's dead. A life for a life. A teammate for a teammate. I feel my eyes get wet, but blink the tears away. This is no time for crying. We're even now, and I feel no remorse. Driving my bayonet into The girl from Five's neck, staring into her eyes as they change from anger to fear to sadness, and then go blank altogether.

A cannon sounds as soon as the light in the girl's eyes dies, and I pull Aiden off her- He's not dead. He might come out with us. I can see his eye lids flutter, see the place where the knife punctured his chest. But there- I can hear the hovercraft; it's picking us up- still far away, but getting closer.

"You're going to be okay, Sweetie." I murmur. Despite what He's done, Aiden is twelve. He didn't deserve this. He shakes his head and coughs, then presses something into my hand. It's his knife. I know what he wants.

"Aiden-" Ha shakes his head again. I raise the knife over his body, and let myself cry as I kill the boy who saved my life. It will be viewed as right when I get home- they will have recognized the gesture as an execution, a punishment for treason. But to me it's just a murder. I've killed a little boy who, by all rights, should have lived. I can feel my teammates on either side of me, and I blink away my tears, seeing Shura giving the district twelve salute.

I press my fingers to my lips and hold them out, standing that way until our hovercraft comes and pulls us out of the Arena.

The Salute means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.


End file.
